


Again and Again

by SongsofSecrets



Category: Bloodborne (Video Game)
Genre: Anal Sex, Angst and Tragedy, Blood and Gore, Extremely Dubious Consent, Hate Sex, Implied/Referenced Character Death, Kinda, M/M, Past Relationship(s), Sexual Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-10
Updated: 2020-01-13
Packaged: 2021-02-26 05:53:57
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,270
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21748612
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SongsofSecrets/pseuds/SongsofSecrets
Summary: "…Oh, you, I’m afraid, I’ve made a botch of things……I can hear the bell, now……The beast-hide assassin, he’s after me……Again and again……It never ends…"Simon makes the mistake of tampering in stories that ought to be left well enough alone...some secrets even he does not wish to bring to light the assassin is more than happy to.
Relationships: Brador/Simon the Harrowed
Comments: 5
Kudos: 22





	1. Do you Hear the Bells Toll?

“So you finally made it out here, did ya’? Tired of hiding among the church halls for someone to carry out your dirty work?” 

A deep rumble of a chuckle escaped the brutish man, pinning the lithe figure to the ground. He had one hand clamped on the nape of the other man's neck, the weight of his body securing him to the ground. 

“Oh, Simon I thought you learned by now…” He purred with oozing toxicity. Simon writhed beneath him, palms flat to the slimy wood floors of the lighthouse. His breathing was ragged as the man above him sat right where his lungs were, decompressing them so the harrowed man had to wheeze for air. “...were you really convinced that foolish hunter ‘as a chance? I should be offended for you to think such rubbish!”

“B-Brador, you can’t stop this one…”

“Oh, but I can. Just like I’ve stopped you here again...and again...!” Leaning down, the elite assassin dipped his head until his crooked nose grazed the church hunter's ear. Such a feeble creature below him, like a lamb, caught in a wolf’s trap. A satisfied hum resonated ever so softly “Do you hear it harrowed one? The chime…” 

“No, and it shall not matter! once all the lies are exposed! You and all alike.” Simon barked against the floorboards, his hand balled into a frustrated fist as he slammed it against the floor. The Church Assassin observed from under his hood, a bemused smile tugging on his lips as he teasingly nuzzled against the scrawnier man’s ear. “No? Then perhaps you need a reminder.” A kiss pressed to the shell of the harrowed hunter's ear, Brador felt the entire body shudder beneath him before he rose onto his haunches. 

Simon coughed, gasping in the pungent grimey air to expand his bruised lungs again. Ignoring the watery sloshes of the foul atmosphere, he could hear the rustle of clothing shifting and a hand on his lower back. “Brador,” he growled ominously, obtaining enough freedom to toss back his head shooting a glare behind him. The assassin looked up after scrunching up the hunters' long coat so a ruthless hand could snake its way underneath, a cocky smile seeping onto his shadowed ragged features. “Is that a glare? Those bindings, I can never rightfully tell. Not that it matters, you’re in no position to fuss and even if you tried...well…” 

He trailed off as his hand circled around the slender waist. Ever so boldly did he grasp between Simon’s gangly legs, hoisting the hunter until his knees supported his bottom half. Simons breath hitched, suddenly trying to scramble himself up. It was to no avail as the assassin used his other hand to push his face back into the creaky floors by the scruff of his neck. The hunter gasped, a flash of heat striking his face, the cold battered hands managed to make their way past the frayed trouser fastens and undergarments. 

“Behave,” Brador commanded sternly with a chilled tone, his calloused thumb tenderly stroking the soft prick to stir it to life. “A pity really, and to think at one time you’d be already leaking in anticipation at the cry of the bell.”

“I don’t hear your damn bell, Assassin!” The man sputtered furiously below him, cursing his frail body and inability to move out of the other man’s grasp.

_It was a lie._ He heard the chilling resonance of death softly whispering to him, beckoning. A time ago he could admit the sound was a comfort, not entirely for whom it belonged to. Yet, knowing he wasn’t the only one forsaken in such a desolate nightmare had him drawn to the chime. 

Brador thundered a hoarse laugh, considerately squeezing the hardening member, relishing its warmth— Simon’s warmth beneath his frigid touches. Oh, how the man radiated when he grew fiery. The harrowed hunter wriggled again for an attempt for range, creating friction against the assassin that had brittle nails digging into his nape in response— rutting against the pettier man. Simon grunted, shimming in place that produced a metallic jiggle. It captured Badors attention. “Oh, you still ‘ave it Simon?” Releasing the man, his hands wandered upward again, trailing the delicate flesh along the waistband. Tearing the large iron ring from a belt loop, Brador elevated it, examining the old rusted key it possessed to a nearby lamps luminous glow. “The entire bloody time… and here I thought you lost it.” 

There was an odd tinge in his tone, an expression that sounded foreign as it rolled sluggishly off his tongue. He thrust the key to land in front of the harrowed man he pinned to the ground mercilessly. “Do you hear the bells toll?" He snarled viciously, temper igniting. Simon’s nostrils flared, teeth clamping down on his lip in defiance. Instead, his bandaged eyes stared hauntingly at the key and at that moment it became clear. _This has nothing to do with exploiting the nightmare yet again, is it?_ There was a constricting twist in his sore chest, his fists relaxing to splay out his fumbling fingers to ground himself. Forcing himself back, his clothed rear bumped into the other man's pelvis. His back dipped, easing down in silent submission. 

An amused snort echoed the decrepit room in the lighthouse before his body was shrouded by an old ragged pelt of what was once white. Labored puffs misted in the air, nosing at Simon’s ear, jawline then down the side of his neck possessively. 

“Good Lad.” Brador's voice murmured thickly as he moved his hand to tug at the tattered trousers of Simon’s along with his own ragged pair. The harrowed man remained silent, mouth clamped shut with only his nose flaring as the fabrics fell to his knees. Every muscle tensed in anticipation for the worst. This wasn't the first time, again and again, would such molestation continue. Brador's maddened fascination with toying with his prey than just killing it never ceased. Simon had struggled numerous times with lost hunters and every time it ended with him...and Brador. The hypocrite of a man who refused to let Simon die despite being his sole threat, or so he convinced himself. 

An impatient prodding at his ringed muscles spurred him back into the present, the hide had vanished from sight. A crash of shattering glass was heard behind him, his head jerking to look behind him before nails cinched into his neck again making the former hunter wince, “Easy there. Consider this my forgiveness to your prior insolence.” 

A pungent smell wafted into the air, like blood and tallow...Oil. 

Brador smugly lurched over and smirked against Simons's face, facial hair tickling against the flushed skin. One more kiss to the neck before he clamped down hard, extracting a stifled whimper from the harrowed hunter as he rutted once...Twice...Three times to drive himself in. This was his favorite part, the sheer bliss shooting up his spine from the tight resilience while his companion of sorts tried his damndest to remain unphased. The hushed bleating was like music to his ears. He sat up once more, his hand sliding down Simon's back lazily. He watched in enthusiasm as the man he mounted squirmed and writhed to adjust to the Church Assassin's heat buried inside him. If it were not for the oil, Simon felt as though he were literally being torn from the inside out by the invasion. 

Rolling his head back eyes closing, Brador huffed contently to the minute tauten movements trying their best to relax after such an intrusion. Clutching the handle of a small bell at his waist, he leaned over to set it inside the keyholders' iron ring. A slight gasp escaped Simon as nimble fingers attempted to dig frantically into the wood grain staring hopelessly at the bell. A cold sweat washed over him, unable to move to look away from the two objects...they looked symbolic.

“Do you hear the bells toll?” Brador repeated lowly.

  
  


Silence. 

“Mmmmm, that scent...tainted. We only just started, and you’ve sunk your teeth past the bruised flesh. Worry not, I’ll ‘ave you singin’ like a siren here. You can't escape me, not now, not ever.” He finished with a throaty chuckle, the hand that was formerly at Simons's neck moved up, placing itself onto the bandaged temple—palm pressing earnestly. The other propped himself up as he towered over the cowardly hunter, placing it so the tips of their fingers overlapped one another. 

With languid flow, the assassin pulled out so only his boubous head remained, his fierce eyes never leaving Simons face. The faint contorted expressions he made as blood oozed between his teeth was invigorating. He waited attentively this time for reciprocation— resonance. 

  
  


After a slur of whines from the stinging sensation, Simon backed himself up. Sheathing the throbbing prick into himself again, and then again until the Assassin slid the practiced hand on his head to his ample waist greedily. Brador’s nails clawing desperately into the flesh, forcibly dragging the harrowed man closer with a slew of unexpected curses ramping their pace into a fit of chaotic heaving for air. Simon’s thighs trembled weakly against the brute force of the other relentlessly pounding into him. 

“Simon, you have not yet answered my question, I shall ‘ave you painted for your cowardice. I will bleed you over and over until you’ve not an ounce of fight left!” 

“I— This isn’t fair. I was not there!”

“Yet, You are still one of them! Swallow your spineless cowardice and own up to your own foolish choices. You hid, you ran and whimpered in the shadows like a whipped mutt!” Brador bellowed down at Simon, his thrusts harsher, his nails penetrating the exposed skin on the man's waist until crimson trickled down the pale skin. 

“Your words are that of a hypocrite! You slaughter any man to hide away all that rots us to nothing,” Simon cried in a cracked wail. Again and again the parallel argument, the same contaminated sins. Every time he was close enough to the truth—to purge him of this nightmare...

“I am the testimony. I am your consequences!” 

The assassin’s roaring voice echoed until it was silent, the bubbling sounds in the distance was all that was heard for they both stopped all friction. Embedded deep within Simon, Brador exhaled heavily before panting, “Our macabre of secrets is over...Simon. Your time is nigh." 

Simon trembled, no longer just his legs but his entire body shook—petrified in place, eyes still locked onto the bell and key. He watched as a battered hand picked the bells mangled handle, his dull eyes reluctantly following after it. 

“I will make you hear the toll of death before I rectify you of your diseased morals, if it's the last thing I do!” 

  
  
  
  
  



	2. Resonance

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "You're...afraid, aren't you?" 
> 
> Silence.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all for the wonderful feedback! I really appreciate you all for reading and hope this chapter will do just as well.

A hoarse outcry shattered the frigid silence of the empty lighthouse, as though whomever it was finally opened their eyes to see where ends meet. The rumbling bass of laughter from another rose up from the shadows of a cracked baritone wail...

  
“Ah—hah! You hear it! The bells piercing song— so close! Like a siren, she cries. ”

  
  
Metallic chimes beat harshly into the harrowed hunters eardrums, barely managing to lift himself onto his elbows so his hands could muffle his ears to no avail. Hot searing tears dampened the head-bindings, blinding his sight, “B—Brador! You accursed beast! I beg of you stop, I am not for your judgment! Our forefathers—”

  
  
“Your **forefathers** — your **pitiful** masters— **Created** me!” Brador bellowed in mockery. His timbering voice silenced the dreary world around them as something to the right of Simon pierced the grimy woodgrain, startling him in astonishment. A raw sting shot through him from the inside, the assassins cock still burrowed deep inside him. It shifted out enough to slam into the abused rectal walls. Hesitantly, Simon removed his hands bracing them flat on the floor, the bells ringing had waned since the assassin threw it to the ground next to them. Brador's hand grasped the very thing standing embedded in place next to Simon's ear. A weapon of sorts, mace-like with its rusted star-resembling head. It was like a wilting rose in its appearance, stained with crimson.

  
  
The harrowed hunter's eyes scaled up the to the shaft where the owner's battered hand clutched it, using it to loom over the smaller man like a shadow. “Ah, Simon you pitiful bastard... I always quite favored you, ya’know? ”

  
  
A cold bandaged hand slid along the scabbing waist, scaling around the lower back. Calloused fingers danced down the concave spine as it dipped, savoring the remaining warmth the skin had until he stopped in the middle of his torso. Calloused fingers grazed to the side and halted right below the shoulder blade. Scarred flesh twitched under his fingertips and for a moment he smiled... _softly_.   
  
“Right here, Simon… another go... another mercy. Shall we dance again before the chime ceases? ”    
  


Releasing the weapon's hilt, the church assassin enveloped the harrowed hunter once more, clammy palm fully overlapping the others feeble one. His burlier size shrouded Simon under a blanket of darkness and bloodied beast fur. The stench of putrid blood and sweat between them made Simon almost feel a tad nostalgic, in his own twisted way. A shift of the others' hips, however, and the man spilled out a whimper to an unexpected jolt within him. A chuckle rumbled against the back of his neck.

  
“I will assume that a yes.” Brador purred, pulling out a little and then nudging himself back in to prod that same exact spot as before. Simon gasped, backing into Brador with a slew of hushed curses.

  
  
"Y—You can't do this Brador! The moon scented—"   
  


" **—** **FOOL** will be put to rest, just as the others have. Over and over shall I do so! You are quite persistent this time, aren't you? " Simon raised his head slightly to that.

  
  
_ '… … ' _   
  
"You're... afraid, aren't you? " 

  
  
_ Silence. _

  
  
Trembling fingers squirmed under Bradors palm, weaseling their way out between the assassin's own fingers, intertwining them for a firmer hold. A puff of heated air was felt from the antler adorned man, his own hand squeezing the mucked and sullied digits. Conscious or not, the man steadied into a frailer rhythm, not as violent as before. Labored breaths bounced along the murky room with the accompaniment of stifled moans and debauching growls.   
  
_ ‘Brador knows,’ _ Simon mused in his head as he sensed the familiar warmth in his stomach, cheeks caked in mud concealed the blotched redness creeping up his face. Bark and snarls in retaliation, if Simon knew... Brador knew _whether he cared to admit it or not_. The lazy gyrations of bony hips and belt straps burying the pulsating cock deeper, yet never hitting the mark made it evermore transparent. He was prolonging their friction, trying to drag their dance out until he could no longer. Though the thrumming burrowing inside him grew exceedingly prominent and the hunter's whimpers slurred into cracked whines, Brador never picked up a more rapid tempo.

  
  
“H-Heathen... you... ah, you torment me. ” Simon sputtered between heaving puffs of air, his body aching as the assassin heeded him suspended in a constant fever that was withheld to be broken. It was abnormal for Brador to be silent, constantly salting wounds to spur his prey into a flurry of writhing and hissing.   
  
“Mmmn, Is that not what I am to you? A mere tormenter? ” Brador chuckled lowly, calloused fingers finding their way across a scabbed hip, down into thin unruly curls to grasp the others leaking prick. His thumb eagerly spread the beading fluids across the head, the body below him bucking in response. Praise was bestowed with a firm squeeze before the digits ran down the shaft. Simon wriggled against him, his body was more than eager to have release. _Anything to end this..._ to break the swirling circle of nightmares, they were stranded in.

"P-Please!" He sobbed, trying to force himself against the iron grip Brador had on him. Brador hummed, hoisting his upper body whilst continuing to thrust into the submissive body below him.

  
  
"Patience Simon, I shall grant you mercy... as I always have… " the assassin rumbled ominously, reaching for the mace. The muscles around him tightened, a verbal growl rolling out of his throat in reaction. With a jerk, he yanked the weapon from the floorboards it's sharpened points burrowed in. His hips involuntarily bucked making the hunter yelp in surprise before groaning a slew of audacious curses. A verbal concoction that it was a surprise that it wasn't an accursed brew itself. _ 'Conceivably if his mind finally collapsed... nevermind that.' _

  
  
"Do not look back Harrowed hunter," Brador uttered, his tone flat— forlorn.

  
  
Simons body stilled, his breath panting somewhere between bliss and pained restraint. He knew… they both knew what came next. The blood-curdling noises of tainted blood solidifying into something horrifically volatile. Both ragged hands released Simon and before the harrowed one could react an agonizing surge of squelching sounds from behind. Croaking gasps tumbled from the assassin's mouth as he achingly curled into himself, his forehead resting between Simons' shoulder blades. The hoods antlers loomed over the frailer man's shoulders, caging his head in place so even if he wanted to, he couldn’t glance back.

  
  
A warmth trickled, seeping into the fabric of his clothed back. “S-Simon, you piteous fool— ” wheezed Brador, a sticky hand grabbed his prick coating it with what he could assume was the foul tainted blood of his own. He hadn’t dislodged the weapon he plummeted into his chest, he left it there, stroking the hunter with eradicated purpose. Simon heaved and squirmed under the substantial weight Brador assaulted him with. It wasn’t prolonged as Simon's entire body convulsed fiercely, glistening stripes of silken white painting the wooden grain. His voice cracked into pitiful sobs as he rode out the aftershock, hips trembling as they thrust into the hand of the assassin. The sudden, heated action rebounded as his insides felt a searing shot of fluids coat his walls. Brador breathed a guttural groan of relief that exhaled with looming anguish, his upper body near limp atop of Simon. Tainted blood continued to ooze down the hilt of his weapon that remained impaled in his chest. It began pushing through his back as the blood at the head of the mace congealed into a vicious monstrosity.

  
  
Sluggishly Brador sat back up onto his haunches, an unsteady laugh escaping through a pant, both hands gripping the hilt of the bloodletter. Though softening, he remained sheathed into Simon and the man below him seemed to care not. Simon quivered in fits of twitching, his body hadn’t overexerted itself like that in what he believed was a time long well lost. His head shifted to feel the damp cool floor against his forehead, ears attentive to the man behind him. The jutted hipbones against him quaked, straining to keep themselves still to their own shudders.   
It was Simon who disturbed the silence between them.   
  


“Shall we then?”   
  
“Another mercy…” Brador muttered.

  
  
“... A final go. ” Simon resonated that made the hooded man smile with a hint of forlornness as he prepared to wrench out the weapon lodged in his chest. His eyes lingered on the bloodied mark just below the shoulder blade, placed like a target. The preceding words he conveyed to the hunter was in a quiet drawl, meant only for Simons's ears. _Only his alone_.   
  


  
“Until we meet again.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So....this turned out way more emotional than anticipated. Thinking back on how little lore was built around them and that it's just them in the hamlet sane enough to hold a conscious in the neverending nightmare. I wanted to pull out a deeper connection to the two than just a one-off of dub-con. 
> 
> I also wanted to bring alight to Simon's attire being the second to weakest armor to a frenzy which makes him all the more miserable in the world he was thrust in. Brador telling him to not look was grace and nod to that tidbit I found fascinating to Simons character. 
> 
> I hope you enjoyed this and please leave comments and feedback.

**Author's Note:**

> To be continued? Please leave comments and feedback~ <3 its appreciated!!
> 
> Next chapter: Disclaimer Warnings: Triggering imagery containing violence/gore, sexual related violence and mental abuse (fuck your bell Brador)


End file.
